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  1. A very compelling query!

    Wait, I don't get it.....

  2. I was talking about time being influenced heavily on quantum physics. That everything in the past and future has happened already. Also trying to put time into a theory in the way a kiss/smile/hug would always be with you if you cherish it enough. Instead of abusing the moment and thinking I don't have to pay 100% attention since in time I might have another kiss/smile/hug. Thinking about it all like this and absorbing everything that happens in life 100% will make a lifetime feel like it could last forever

  3. Oh, I thought we were rhyming,
    You ended in theory,
    I rhymed with query.... :D

  4. your poems are demented as hell but in a really good way i enjoyed them!

  5. was that based on the book, the art of seduction? there's a chapter on the dandy

  6. Could be, I guess. I've never even read that book. Haha.

  7. Haiku for you ...

    Outside my window
    A fir tree towers very still
    While thunder threatens

  8. hollythestrange

    Seeing as it's V-day on monday i'd better bring this out again:

    Roses are red,
    But sometime's they're black,
    You sent me your heart,
    I sent it straight back.

  9. More Haiku for you ...

    Rose petals fall freely
    On a crumpled love letter
    As two sweethearts part

    © 2011 All Rights Reserved

  10. I love it Holly! thats the only way to get hearts sent to us in the first place it seams

  11. Poem: Preface From The Writer To The Web:

    I write.

    Do you read?

    I write.

    I write words:
    Carefully and consistently, and chaotically, from the deep pulsar unison of the still mind (or the violent undoing of the still mind);

    Sometimes I resemble Robert Zimmerman (my hair uncut, my mind uncut, all unregulated thoughts, wind haphazard along a pale American brow too).


    Sometimes words are fragments of paragraphs and you find them eschew in and from time, and with care, in the long ribbon fabric or one single unsealed cosmic spiral, and then they burn wild like black-holes (birthing voids built the milky way);

    Still there are words so heavy and pure that they anchor fast the mind to the mere memory of their syllables in the quiet echoes, in and around, the deep violet sea of the questioning readers inner-mind.

    I write sentences:
    In strands, like silk, or links in chains, or diamond arranged compressed carbon coal electrons, or the frequency of more intimately woven atoms;
    In intricate quilts of reason, and warmly glowing sheets of cotton fiction that cover you at 4 am on a Sunday (with the sun bright and a bastard, soon to be hitting your face from the slats in the window shades);
    I write paragraphs, and as such I consider it a duty of the considerate and conflicted human to consider their conflicts human, and consider:
    In airports, in churches, in penthouses in Hollywood (who overlook the homeless mountains and the slanting fogs of debilitated industries, and the vacuum seduction, and lifeless Angel City in the Wests bleached blonde sand, and lids of imagery cover sad vacant eyes), in station wagons, in deep wood temples in Maine, near the Androscoginn River, where the Native Americans caught silver fish and eternity lived off communal tides to the distant ocean, which is now more black than the sky from our waste, now wrought with the studied three-headed-demon-fish, (but still a holy place Maine, it glows);
    In any meaningful medium, known or noun, imaginable is mans only true duty. It is mans only Diety (For what was with God, what was God? The Word, In The Beginning).
    To chase the promise that reality and truth are not yet only relative devices, and leaving these scriptures: On brains, and on paper, and on papyrus, and old plaster, and on the backs of old Polaroids (once someone did at least), the thin skin on wet hands who run and bleed ink (I accidentally washed them twice),
    In notebooks, In net-books, on walls, on monitors, on mirrors, on doors, on fogged window glass, or frosted window glass, or
    Taking some other incarnate form of creation,
    As sketches,
    As scribbles,
    As carvings,
    As songs you will never hear, or

    I write to Know
    I write, to See.

    My eyes are ink,
    My spine is bound;

    I am The Writer
    And I am worth a million in prizes.

    Writing allot lately and thought wordpress would be a fantastic place to talk about the possibilities of writing, writers, and beyond.
    Are you out there?

    I would love to see writers post, discuss, subscribe, and guide one another through the steps of developing a career as a writer, anything and everything from publishing to creative process.

    Any favorite authors, literary news, or books?


  12. I like how choppy it sounds @authorjdhughes, with all the lineation. It's sort of like it's "broken," like the subject of the poem feels. This line stood out to me: "The reptiles crawl from the gutters at dawn, and they howl." Very nice~

    In my newest post:

    Spontaneous Combustion

    I do not wish to exist in this world any longer.
    The particles of my being will part and explode.
    Burning up into an ash of infinite loss.
    This ash will cause your eyes to sting with remorse.

    This flourish of tears will abruptly cease.
    They will disintegrate as the winds carry them off.
    An imprint of confusion left in their place.
    You will hear my scream amongst your perplexity.

    Notes reverbrating from my vocal chords will waver.
    Crawling out of your ear canal they will collapse and disperse.
    Struggling to fly away and be a part of freedom’s daydream.
    Brushing past you they will invoke memories.

    These memories will lift themselves from your mind.
    They too will vanish into the promise of oblivion.
    Such a void will erase my impression on humanity.
    And I will forever be lost to remembrance.

  13. Thanks Raywoman, I really appreciate the read!

    Let me know what you think of the others too!:
    Ive basically been having a virtual writing marathon this weekend haha, please feel free to subscribe if you like the content!

    I really like Spontaneous Combustion. The final lines:
    "These memories will lift themselves from your mind.
    They too will vanish into the promise of oblivion.
    Such a void will erase my impression on humanity.
    And I will forever be lost to remembrance."

    Are fantastic. I love "the promise of oblivion" and "forever be lost to remembrance" especially. The final lines are of the promise in nothingness, and of utter desolation from the whole of rememberance; very sad, but very good!

  14. Liked Room at Pinnicale X. The first one on your blog was a little too long for my tastes in poerty but nontheless wonderful.

  15. Really liked "You said"..though not my writing style, its a compelling read..

    See my poetry on:

  16. Sorry, couldn't find the poem your writing about..
    Lets post the poems in here and plug your blog underneath!

    Since i'm here, i just better could talk
    talk like hell and suffer from speech
    i point my fingers and keep them crossed
    shit it's pointless to keep crossing
    roads of pain en suffer
    but since i could talk, i just better stay here


  17. theprattlingsofseverin

    I wrote this years ago ....

    Here i sit upon the loo,
    Read now to have a poo.
    Very soon now we shall see,
    If as well, i need a pee.
    The the loo, i'll get up from it,
    Turn around, and promptly vomit.

  18. NICE!! Like the humour!!

    again one of mine;

    saterday sickness
    chemical quickness
    blur and saturation
    dreams of imagination

    fast mind of the slowest kind

    no more salvation
    soldiers of frustration
    Please let them lock up
    the politician fuck up

    just a fast mind of the slowest kind

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